


Meet Cute

by GatesKeeper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), F/M, First Kiss, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Past Cassie Robinson/Dean Winchester, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22384300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GatesKeeper/pseuds/GatesKeeper
Summary: In a world where the first words your soulmate will say to you get inscribed on your wrist at 16, knowing if you've met "the one" should be easy. But when is Dean Winchester's life ever that?Because the thing is, it's the first words they say to you face-to-face that count--not over text message or video chat or any of the ways he's been communicating with Cas since they met online.The night before they are supposed to see each other in-person for the first time, his mind won't shut off--too busy retracing the four words on his skin over and over again that read, "What you got there?"It didn’t sound like something Cas would say—nor did the child-like scrawl it was written in look like he imagined Cas’s handwriting. But how could it possibly be anybody else?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester
Comments: 212
Kudos: 1377
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what's wrong with me. I currently have two WIPs going on and yet this idea came to me and wouldn't leave me alone. It's also a far cry from my usual canon-compliant in-universe style, but it does contain plenty of Easter eggs. So let me know what you guys think!

Impala67 [7:23 PM]: You know how parents tell their kids that if they win the soccer game, they’ll take them out for ice cream? And the kid says, “What if we lose?” and the parents say, “We’ll take you out for ice cream anyway.”

AngelofThursday [7:24 PM]: When would I have any interaction with the parents of child athletes?  
AngelofThursday [7:25 PM]: Also, what is the point in saying that dessert is contingent upon winning if you are going to give the child ice cream regardless?

Impala67 [7:25 PM]: Exactly!

AngelofThursday [7:26 PM]: Dean, you’re making even less sense than usual.

Impala67 [7:27 PM]: It’s just…tomorrow’s a big day for us.  
Impala67 [7:28 PM]: And I know we’ve talked about how we’re not gonna let it change things one way or another.  
Impala67 [7:28 PM]: But whether it turns out you’re my soulmate or not…  
Impala67 [7:29 PM]: I think we should go out for ice cream.

AngelofThursday [7:29 PM]: Is the ice cream strictly metaphorical then? If so, I would say that I promise to love you regardless.  
AngelofThursday [7:30 PM]: If not…do you want me to look up Yelp reviews?

Dean couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that.

It had been half a year since they’d connected on that stupid dating site, which he’d only joined in a half-drunken stupor after playing third wheel to Sam and Jessica all night. Pretty much as soon as he uploaded his picture, he’d been flooded with messages from girls and guys wanting a hook-up—but he could get that anywhere. He’d wanted someone that could be a nerd with his friends on game night, someone who would ride shotgun and join him singing along with the radio at the top of his lungs, _and_ someone who was good in the sack.

In short, he’d wanted a soulmate.

Cas was almost none of the things he asked for on paper. While he was definitely a nerd, he was more of the kind that would win Jeopardy than could get into a detailed debate about whether or not the Hulk lifting Thor while Thor held Mjolnir counted as the Hulk lifting Mjolnir.

He’d also vowed never to sing in Dean’s presence under any circumstances but said that he’d be happy to listen to as many over-the-top performances of Eye of the Tiger as Dean felt like giving. And while Cas was devastatingly handsome, finding out if they had in-person chemistry sorta had to wait until they met…in-person.

Which was currently the reason that Dean’s stomach was in more knots than that bendy yoga teacher he used to date.

Impala67 [12: 03 AM]: Look, I got to head to bed if I’m going to get my four hours in before my flight tomorrow.

AngelofThursday [12:03 AM]: Apologies, I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.  
AngelofThursday [12:04 AM]: Though maybe it will help you sleep on the plane?

Impala67 [12:04 AM]: You’re cute when you’re being delusional.

No, the only way he was going to survive the flight was by buying a tray full of those little liquor bottles. But he had such little vacation time, he couldn’t justify a 25-hour drive both ways no matter how much he tried.

Unsurprisingly, even after signing off, stripping down into boxers, and climbing into bed, Dean couldn’t get his brain to shut off. He could hear the minutes ticking by even though the only clock he had was his phone. So now, he’d be meeting Cas drunk and with zombie-like circles under his eyes. _Perfect._

No, instead of sleeping, his mind read and reread the four words barely visible on his wrist that he’d memorized long ago—“What you got there?”

It didn’t sound like something Cas would say—nor did the child-like scrawl it was written in look like he imagined Cas’s handwriting. But how could it be anybody else?

/////

_Six months ago…_

_AngelofThursday [1:29 AM]: I just wanted to let you know that, even though your profile says you live in Kansas, you seem to have your location settings pinned to a fifty-mile area surrounding Palo Alto, California._

_Dean cursed. More proof that this whole idea was pointless. Dean checked the messenger’s profile, but other than saying he was male, 25, and in med school, it was almost blank._

_Impala67 [1:35 AM]: Thanks, Man. I was just about to delete this whole thing anyway._

_AngelofThusday [1:37 AM]: I will admit, I’m considering the same. So far, someone has tried to get me to join their energy drink pyramid scheme, two people have propositioned me and gotten very mad at my refusal, and another two messages started with “Did it hurt when you fell out of Heaven?” which is probably the fault of my username, but is disappointing, none-the-less._

_His snort filled Sam’s and Jess’s tiny living room; he was currently crashing on their couch. Lucky thing about having a ginormous brother. Even in such a small apartment, the couch was long enough to fit all six feet of him._

_Impala67 [1:39 AM]: But did you have someone insist that your profile picture was photoshopped and you ‘stole’ your lips from some Australian model?_

_AngelofThursday [1:40 AM]: I did not put up any photos of myself, so no._

_This guy was either amazing at sarcasm or had never heard of it._

_Dean’s mouse hovered over the “unpublish profile” button—and then moved away again. He kinda wanted to find out which._

/////

Dean didn’t remember his mom as well as he would have liked to. But she’d left behind about a dozen or so home movies that he’d have the courage to watch one day—and her journal.

In one of the entries, Mary talked about a man she had been in a relationship with before their dad. She and Brian weren’t soulmates—knew that from the beginning—and yet, she wrote like it was the end of the world the day he broke up with her. It was over a year later—when she first encountered a veteran named John Winchester—that she came to the conclusion that, if she had that much love to give the wrong person, it was nothing compared to what she was capable of feeling for the right person.

If she was here now, watching Dean bounce his leg in the airport terminal lounge, she might have said something to that effect to calm him down. But he didn’t _want_ the mystery person who might come after Cas and prove how small his current feelings were.

He wanted messy black hair and midnight blue eyes and “I don’t understand that reference.” He wanted the deep growl he heard over video chats and the bacon that appeared on his doorstep every month because Cas got him a monthly subscription as a birthday present. He wanted….

“Flight #290 to San Francisco will be getting ready to board in 15 minutes,” a woman’s voice announced over the PA system, jerking him from his thoughts. “First-class passengers, those with mobility devices, and active service members will be invited to line up first, so you should begin gathering your things. On behalf of Angel Air, we’d like to thank you for flying with us today. After all, the journey is just as important as the destination.”

_With mottos like that, I might throw up before I even get on the plane,_ Dean griped internally, standing up and hoisting his duffel bag more securely over his shoulder. ‘Cause, yeah, the journey’s great and all, but not if you end up nowhere.

/////

_3 months ago…_

_“Can you freakin’ believe a bee has to fly 90,000 miles to make just one pound of honey?” Dean told Sam, gesturing emphatically with his hot dog. Groups of people were gathered in clumps with Bobby and the grill mostly at the center._

_“Dean, that’s like the tenth ‘fun’ fact you’ve shared since I got home for spring break. What. Is going. On?”_

_“Maybe, I’ve developed some new interests since you’ve been away at school. People change, Sammy. Even Lawrence changes. Did you notice we got a Sonic since you left?”_

_Sam rolled his eyes. “If it was just the fact that you’ve apparently binge-watched all of Animal Planet in the last three months, maybe I’d let it go. But I figured you weren’t going to let me out of your sight except for bathroom breaks this visit. And instead, you_ ditched me _at the movies last night for undisclosed reasons.”_

_Dean smiled uneasily. He’d gone back to the apartment to chat with Cas, but his brother certainly didn’t need to know that._

_“Hey, dweebs!” Jo interrupted, reaching up on tip toes to put one hand on each of their shoulders. “We’re setting up knife throwing, if you wanna get your asses kicked.” She gestured toward a large cut-out of what appeared to be a vampire._

_“But if we slice and dice your boyfriend, who are you going to take to prom?”_

_That earned Dean a head-slap but, thankfully, did get him out of the conversation with Sam._

_…But only for the afternoon._

_By the time evening rolled around, Dean had had approximately five too many beers and was spilling his guts to his brother._

_“I’m really glad you found someone,” Sam said, sincerely, but with a hint of worry around his eyes. Sure enough, less than three seconds passed before he added, “And you really don’t know if--”_

_“No, Sam. You know how that shit works. It’s the first words you say to each other face-to-face. Not in a letter—or a text message—or a video chat.” Dean suddenly imagined what would happen if it did work over camera and your soulmate was an actor on a dog food commercial and you had “Dogs don’t know it’s not bacon” on your wrist forever._

_“Well?” Sam asked, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Are you going to find out?”_

_“Yeah. Someday,” he said, avoiding his brother’s glance and taking another sip of beer. After all, it was easy for Sam to talk. Third day at Stanford—and there she was—the “Is this seat taken?” that he’d worn underneath a leather bracelet since he was 16._

_But Dean wasn’t like him. Good things didn’t just happen in his experience—and he didn’t see why the universe would start being nice to him now._

/////

“Going to visit your sweetie, I’m guessing,” the middle-aged blonde woman sitting next to him in 32B smiled.

“Uh…,” he said, intelligently, running his hands up and down the armrests. He shouldn’t have gotten a window seat. That was a terrible-no-good-very-bad idea.

“No need to be shy,” she said, patting him conspiratorially. “If there's one thing I've learned in all my years on the road, it's when somebody's pining for somebody else. And we’ve got several hours together. So, why don’t you tell me about them?”

“Uh…” he repeated.

/////

_1 month ago…_

_“Cas! You can’t just—say shit like that as if it’s the weather. There’s a high of 69 today, partially cloudy, and by the way, I’m in love with you.”_

_“Why not?” his sorta-boyfriend answered from where Dean had his laptop resting on the coffee table. “I’m much more sure of that than if it’s going to rain today or not.”_

_“Because—because you just can’t.”_

_“It’s a good thing Sam’s the lawyer and not you.”_

_Dean didn’t have a good response to that either._

_Since Dean had had his chick flick moment with Sam in Bobby’s and Ellen’s backyard, his brother had gone from quietly skeptical to almost absurdly enthusiastic about their whole thing._

_He and Cas both attended Stanford so in the name of looking out for his big brother, he and Jess had made a point of having Cas over for dinner the week he got back from spring break. Now, they all go jogging on the weekends together and take yoga on Tuesday evenings and it’s all kinds of weird._

_On one hand, knowing that his brother and his…Cas get along so well made Dean a flavor of happy he didn’t know existed before. On the other, he didn’t want to build a whole puzzle around Cas only to realize that the two most important pieces weren’t ever meant to fit in the first place._

_“Dean, I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable—and there’s no pressure to say it back or even to feel the same right now. All I’m asking is that you give me the credit of knowing my own feelings.”_

_Dean worried the bottom of his lip between his teeth. “It’s not that I don’t—you know, you too. It’s just…”_

_“You’re worried we’re not soulmates,” Cas stated plainly, crossing his arms over his chest. His white dress shirt sleeves were pushed up to the elbows, the shoulders flexing with the motion. “Which frankly, I find out-of-character for you. You talk about Bill Gates dropping out of school as an exercise in free will—and how the best musicians pushed beyond socially-established boundaries. You hate when people say that you’re like your father—because, ‘screw genetics’—you are who you choose to be. And yet,_ this— _” Cas held his wrist out to the camera and Dean automatically shut his eyes so he couldn’t read what it said. “_ This _is what makes you finally believe in prophecy?”_

_“Put your hand down,” Dean complained, still with his eyes closed._

_“Why? If you tell me what yours says and I tell you what mine says, we’ll know what to say to each other when we meet and then you can stop worrying.”_

_It was actually something he thought about before—but then he’d spend the rest of his life wondering._

_“Please, Cas?” he tried again. And even though he could hear Cas grumbling about it, he could tell that he dropped his arm._

_He bought the plane ticket the next day._


	2. Chapter 2

_23 years ago…_

_Dean knew about soulmates when he was four years old; he also knew they weren’t perfect like everyone said ‘cause his parents could get real mad at each other sometimes._

_When he came down for breakfast that morning, he wondered if he was going to see his dad in his usual chair—or just hear his voice yelling at his mom from the phone._

_He was home—and he even made car noises so that six-month-old Sammy would eat some of his gross baby food. But whatever fight his mom and dad were having the day before got stirred up again that afternoon—so when the thief came, Dad was sleeping on the couch._

_John only woke up when she started screaming—a fact he was asked to repeat to the police again and again through increasingly-gritted teeth, while Dean huddled inside a blanket somebody had thrown over his shoulders, staring at the still-flashing red and blue lights unseeingly._

/////

5 months ago…

AngelofThursday [3:43 PM]: Did they ever catch the person who did it?

Impala67 [3:45 PM]: Never even came close.  
Impala67 [3:49 PM] My dad tried though. Within the month, he quit his job working with Uncle Bobby, sold the house. Started training himself—and us, by extension—to be bounty hunters.

AngelofThursday [3:51 PM]: So when you said you had an unconventional childhood…

Impala67 [3:52 PM]: Definitely wasn’t exaggerating.  
Impala67 [3:54 PM]: He’s good at it. _I_ was good at it.  
Impala67 [3:55 PM]: There was even a time in my life I thought I wanted to be just like him.

AngelofThursday [3:56 PM]: What changed your mind?

Impala67 [3:58 PM]: The way Sammy looked at him. I couldn’t stand it if he looked at me like that.

/////

_11 years ago…_

_“Did you get it? Did you get it?” 12-year-old Sam asked enthusiastically, bouncing on his toes. Dean loved his little brother—but, God, was he annoying._

_“Everyone does at 16. Doesn’t mean anything. I’m never going to meet them.”_

_Sam’s enthusiasm seemed to slowly run out of batteries. “What do you mean? Doesn’t everybody find theirs someday? Unless something bad happens first. Or are you worried you won’t recognize them when you do? Madison’s older brother’s just says ‘Hi’, which is pretty lame—unless yours says ‘Hi.’” Sam abruptly stopped talking. Always was a smart one, that kid._

_“It doesn’t say ‘Hi’,” Dean grumbled, spinning Baby’s keys around his finger and gesturing for Sam to get in the car. However, once they were both settled and the engine was rumbling, he could still feel those puppy dog eyes on him, demanding more. “I’m not going to meet them because I don’t want to. And if someone ever did say the words to me, I’d run the opposite direction.”_

_“But…why?” Sam was completely baffled._

_“Just…look at Dad,” Dean murmured, purposefully not looking at his brother, but turning around in order to back out of the driveway. “He’s only half living—because once you find your soulmate, that’s it. You’re no longer your own person. You’re part of someone else—someone who could just…die at any moment. Thanks, but no thanks.” A part of him also wondered if his parents hadn’t met—if they hadn’t gotten the house with the picket fence and the two kids—if she’d still be alive right now. But he wasn’t going to mention_ that _to Sammy._

_“But they were happy, weren’t they? While she was around?” Sam clarified and Dean felt a familiar pang—the one that came every time he realized Sam didn’t really remember Mary._

_“Yeah…they were perfect,” Dean breathed, not realizing he didn’t really remember Mary either. That somewhere along the way, John’s wistful stories about the days their little family used to spend together—at baseball games, at the arcade, stargazing on top of the Impala—had made him forget that there was anything else._

_A month later, when John still hadn’t shown back up to see them or, hell, pay rent—Dean and Sam packed up everything they owned, loaded up Baby, and drove back to Lawrence, where Bobby took one look at them and said, “Guest bedroom’s yours.”_

_And it was theirs until Dean graduated high school two years later._

/////

2 months ago…

It wasn’t long after Sam knew about Cas that everyone else knew about Cas too. Two weeks after his brother’s visit for spring break, Bobby pulled up a chair next to Dean during his lunch break—wearing his ever-present ball cap and a grease smudge on his cheek to match the one on his surrogate son.

“So I hear you have a new fella.”

“That bitch,” Dean grumbled into his sandwich, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks. “What did he say?”

“Oh, not much, except that you were already deep down the rabbit hole.”

“Well, he doesn’t--”

“It was Charlie who said that this ‘Castiel’ has three brothers and a sister, a 790 credit score, and that he apparently knows how to sword fight with a katana—this was before going on a tangent about that ‘LARP’ game you kids do.”

“How did she—” But he didn’t even finish that sentence. The redheaded app developer could—and had—gotten into the FBI’s databases and those for multi-billion dollar companies like Sandover and Roman Enterprises. The website that she designed for Singer Automotive was completed while she waited for her turn on the Nintendo Switch during game night.

“And once Ellen heard it from her--”

“Of course, Ellen knows too…” Dean’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

“She and Jo--”

Dean just buried his head in his arms at this point.

“Found some pictures on the internet and then started giggling like they hadn’t slept for three days.”

“Is there a point to all of this…?” Dean butted in, wondering if, next, there was going to be some kind of announcement in _The Gazette._

“The point, _boy,_ is why the hell are we not hearing all this from _you?_ ”

“Because--” Dean sputtered, worse than the 1970 Camaro he’d been restoring that morning. “This could all turn out to be nothing.”

Bobby didn’t actually roll his eyes, but he stared upward at the ceiling like he was thinking about it. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been acting these last few months. It’s _already_ something. And treating it like it’s not won’t do you a lick of good.” He paused for a minute. “Who was that girl again—from a few years back?”

Vague as that was, Dean knew who he meant. “Cassie.”

Bobby snorted. “Well, they might have similar names—but, from what I’ve heard, that seems to be the only thing they have in common. Don’t give up on something before it’s over—before it’s even begun, really,” he offered, patting Dean on the shoulder as he stood up. And when Dean took an extra ten minutes for lunch, he didn’t say anything.

/////

_7 years ago…_

_Most people were a little different everywhere they went. Something in them changed between work and the bar, when they were hanging out with family versus friends, when they were bundled up against the winter cold compared to when they were teasing off their clothes. Cassie wasn’t. She was herself all the time—a flame that refused to get brighter or dimmer no matter what._

_She was the first person to be more than a one-night stand to him—and she didn’t even seem to get how big a deal that was._

_They met at a time when he needed to meet someone. Dad had come to see them for the first time in three months so, of course, there had been a fight. At the height of it, Sam had angrily announced he’d applied early decision to Stanford, and he was going whether John wanted him to or not. Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut._

_“It’s not about you, Dean,” Sam had insisted later, when it was just the two of them again. And yet, Dean could already feel some of the 1,839.9 miles between Lawrence and Palo Alto growing in their tiny two-bedroom apartment._

_So, he went out. He met this absolutely gorgeous girl and he found himself telling her things. “What’s your favorite memory?” she asked as they lay in bed together, legs and fingers intertwined. And so, he described setting off illegal fireworks with Sam and how the kid’s eyes were brighter than the Roman candles. He told her about the first time he hit a bullseye with the Ithaca 37 sawed-off shotgun John had gotten him for his eighth birthday. He described a day on the beach with his mom. “What was so special about it?” she prompted, and, as much as tried, he couldn’t really answer her—as far as he knew, he just built a sandcastle and ran around with some other kids his age while Mary looked on smiling. But still, it felt golden against his other memories._

_He told her so much about himself that it came as a complete shock when, a few months into dating, she crossed her arms at him and demanded to know why he didn’t open up to her—why anytime they got close to something deep, he joked or got defensive instead of just being honest about his feelings._

_“I have been upfront with you about everything. Everything!” he half-screamed, half-whispered._

_“I’m a reporter, Dean. I know what somebody’s not saying.”_

_“Extra, extra! Let me hear all about it then—because I have_ no idea _what you’re talking about.”_

_“The night we met—you were upset about your brother,” she pointed out in, what was to him, a complete non-sequitur._

_“Yeah. So?”_

_“It doesn’t seem strange to you that, since then, all of your stories about him involve Sam being in middle school or younger?”_

_“We’re not as close as we used to be,” Dean snapped back, hating her a little for making him admit it._

_“And that bothers you. But you don’t want me to know it bothers you.”_

_“I—It—that has nothing to do with us.” Except Cassie was sure it did._

_Their relationship pretty much ended then, even though their conversation went on for another hour. Dean would have tried again tomorrow, but Cassie seemed so sure they would never work. And, in the process, she became another item on the list of things that he never wanted to talk about._

_Sam got his acceptance letter a few weeks later because, of course, he did—and John continued to stay away because, of course, he did. And for the first time in a long time, Dean thought about his soulmate. Sure, whoever they were could die and do what his mother did to his dad. But at least she hadn’t chosen to leave—like everyone else seemed to._

/////

2 months ago…

“No way, Sammy. This—there’s gotta be some mistake,” Dean insisted to his brother, nursing a bottle of whiskey.

“Bobby had Charlie look into it before telling us and the records are all there. Birth certificate, child support papers, pictures. Dad had another son.”

Dean has a sudden, horrifying memory of his dad walking him through condom use when he was 12. How he wishes he could back to that moment just to punch him in the face.

John hadn’t even been the one to tell them about Adam. The kid’s mother, Kate, had called Bobby, saying that John had given her his number a long time ago for emergencies. Her son had gotten into a car accident and wasn’t doing well—and John wasn’t answering his cell phone, so could he please, please get a hold of him? And while Bobby tried, he hadn’t made any progress in the twelve hours it took her to call back, saying that Adam had passed away.

Dean didn’t know how he felt—but it was decidedly somewhere in the not-great spectrum. He swallowed another mouthful of whiskey.

He and Sam lingered on the phone for an hour—not really saying anything—just sharing the same headspace the way they used to share motel beds. But eventually, Sam had to go and Dean just continued to sit on the couch and stare at the wall until he heard the ding of an incoming message.

AngelofThursday [8:51 PM]: Sam told me what happened.

AngelofThursday [8:52 PM] Talk to me when you’re ready.

Dean stared at the phone for half an hour, expecting Cas to text back, demanding—something—but it never happened.

The next day, Dean called him and they spent the afternoon talking about how different monarchs tried to gain political dominance by buying body parts they thought belonged to Jesus—because Cas was a weirdo and liked religious history—and Dean went on a long-winded rant about the plot holes in X-men.

And when, two weeks later, Dean finally started yelling to Cas about what a shit his father was and how that poor kid deserved better, he didn’t hold back. Because Cas didn’t make him feel like he needed to.

/////

Present…

Dean was used to his heart rate slowing down once the plane was back on the ground, but not this time. It not only threw itself against his rib cage; he could feel it beating up in his throat and down in his feet.

This airport, like all airports, was a bitch to navigate, but eventually, he was past the security checkpoint and began playing the highest stakes game of Where’s Waldo that was ever created. Could that black hair be…? No. Was that…? Still no. What had Cas said he’d be wearing? A trench coat, right?

And then, all of a sudden, Dean could feel eyes on him. He turned around—and there was no way in hell he was going to do the cliched running-towards-each-other thing, but Cas was _here_ and he was _real_ and he was almost as tall as Dean, which he vaguely found surprising.

 _What you got there? What you got there?_ He begged Cas to say in his mind, his hand clutching his jacket sleeve that hid those very words. Twelve feet apart, six feet, two…

Dean took a deep breath.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas spoke gently, and it was simultaneously the best and the worst thing he’d ever heard.

“Heya, Cas,” he smiled, sadly.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, surprise, this story is turning out longer than I expected, so this is not the finale. However, I already have the last chapter roughly drafted so it should be up soon.

They decided to go out for ice cream. Well, pie with ice cream a la mode—and it was the single most awkward car ride of Dean’s entire life. Not only did he hate not being the one behind the wheel, but as soon as the car started, some pop shit started playing—and it occurred to him all over again how stupid he was to think that he and Cas were ever meant for each other.

Sliding into a red-checkered booth at the back of the restaurant was even more awkward—because now they had to look at each other and _holy shit,_ Cas’s eyes were blue. Not like the ocean, which turned green and murky the closer you got to it—or the sky which faded into a hazy nothingness—but blue all the way down. Hard as he tried, Dean, who had spent months at this point talking to Cas about everything and nothing, couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Hi, there,” a voice spoke from right next to them. Dean turn, startled, to see the pretty twenty-something waitress with a notepad in hand. “See anything you like?” Her glance flicked down to his lips and her cheeks tinged pink—and, yes, Dean knew that look.

“In the mood for something sweet. Good thing there seems to be a lot of that around here.” He smiled and winked at her on reflex. “Apple pie?”

“You got it,” she said with more enthusiasm than the order called for.

“And you?” she asked, turning to Cas and— _oh, yeah, Cas_. Dean immediately wanted to sink into the cracked plastic seat under him.

“The same, plus coffee. Thank you,” the dark-haired man replied, calmly, handing both his and Dean’s menus back to her.

“I—sorry,” Dean sputtered, as soon as she was gone. “I swear I wasn’t into her or anything. I just--”

“I’m well aware that you’re a flirt, Dean, and that flirting doesn’t always carry intention behind it.”

“But you’re still pissed.”

“I’m…concerned that you seemed more relaxed talking to Tracy, who you’ve known for two minutes, than the person you’re in a relationship with.”

“Tracy?” Dean asked, which is totally not the part he should be focused on, but it caught him off guard.

“The waitress. Her nametag says Tracy.” Of _course_ , that would be something that Cas would notice.

“It’s not about you,” he insisted and, for the first time ever, he reached over the table and grabbed Cas’s hand only to be surprised by the instant jolt of electricity it brought. He looked down with slight wonder at the contact and by the time he looked up again, Cas’s frown has softened into the barest hints of a smile. He turned his hand over while still keeping it under Dean’s so that they were now palm to palm.

In this position, Dean could clearly see the words wrapped around Cas’s own wrist, “Let me show you,” and the brief happiness he felt faded again. It somehow stung even worse that his mark almost sounded like it could go with his own.

“Obviously, it’s not about you,” Dean repeated, once he cleared his throat of the lump he suddenly found in it. “It’s just—I got my hopes up about the whole soulmate thing.”

“You know I don’t put any stock into that.”

“Yeah, _now_ you don’t. You haven’t met them yet. And once you do, you’re gonna wonder what you were doing wasting so much time with me.”

“Dean,” Cas huffed, exasperated. “I still can’t believe you think I could ever love anyone but you. But putting your dangerous self-esteem issues aside for the moment, I would not regret this relationship even if it ended. You have been a part of my life for half a year now—that’s 2% of my life. Much more if you count the fact I don’t remember anything from before I was four. And in that not-insignificant amount of time, you have changed me so much—taught me so many things, made me so much happier. And that change…it’s permanent. If I regretted knowing you it would be like regretting who I’ve become since I’ve met you and that’s just not true.”

Dean felt his voice tremble even without saying anything.

“Now, I believe that we’re going to make it. But if thinking about forever is causing you distress right now, don’t. Just ask yourself if I make you happy right now—do you want to be with me in this moment? And if the answer is yes, we keep doing that—every day until it is forever.”

He considered arguing—saying it wasn’t gonna be _Dean_ who got sick of _him_ —but he knew Cas would call him a hypocrite. Instead, he just nodded, “I—I can do that.”

“Good,” Cas murmured, and his smile reached his eyes this time. “Now let’s figure out what we want to do this week. There’s this ghost tour I thought--”

By the time Tracy came back with two plates, Dean had moved over to Cas’ side of the table, one arm thrown around him.

/////

The next six days flew by like napkins left on a picnic table on a windy day. And suddenly, Dean and Cas were at the airport again, hanging on to each other even as Dean’s chances of making it through security in time got slimmer.

He’d never stopped being a little sad the whole time he was with Cas, worrying that everything they had was on borrowed time. But, in some ways, it had made the trip sweeter.

He didn’t take for granted the way that Cas’ head rested on his shoulder when they sat on his couch to watch The Godfather together. Or the way they both said nothing when the movie ended and the credits rolled for ten minutes because they were waiting to see if the other would make a move.

No, he appreciated every single second of Cas turning slowly towards him, his blue eyes only somewhat obscured by eyelashes—until Dean couldn’t help himself and, grabbing with both hands, slotted their lips together.

And then Cas let out a little gasp of pleasure—giving Dean the opening to lick his way into Cas’ mouth where he met the much more tentative licks of Cas’ own tongue. And even though the other man smelled like a thunderstorm usually, at that moment, he tasted like pie and Dean couldn’t help but lean him backward so that he was hovering above him on the couch.

Cas didn’t seem to mind, tugging Dean by the hair closer so that his body was pinning Cas instead.

And when Dean moaned into the kiss, hand finding the jut of Cas’ hip underneath the other man’s t-shirt, Cas broke the seal of their lips just to start mouthing a spot on his neck. “Nggunhh, _Cas,_ ” he gasped, grinding down instinctively.

Nor did Dean take for granted waking up the next morning, his reinvigorated hard-on pressed to the swell of Cas’ ass—feeling a guilty sort of pleasure that even if Cas found his soulmate, he would have to tell them that _Dean_ had been his first. That, no matter what happened, Cas would always remember _Dean_ as the one that initially claimed his skin with light bruises and hickeys, the first to put that particular look on Cas’ face, the first to hear Cas lose it on a strangled, “Oh, oh, fuck!”

Every second he was there, he made sure to sear into his memory—from Cas’ grumpy pre-coffee glare to his childlike enthusiasm for board games to the sight of his brother and his boyfriend ganging up on him at paintball after Cas suggested a double-date with Sam and Jessica.

And now it was over…just like that.

“It’s not over,” Cas whispered into his ear, ignoring the small child rolling a backpack across the airport floor, even though she nearly collided into them. Dean wondered for a minute if he’d spoken his worry out loud, but then realized Cas just knew him really well.

“You really think we can keep this?” Dean asked, in a small voice.

Cas leaned forward and kissed the bridge of his nose. “This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith. Luckily, I have enough for both of us.”

“Now go,” he ordered, pushing Dean towards the ever-growing security line. “And text me to let me know you landed safely.”

Dean nodded, wishing he had something to look forward to after leaving Cas than getting on a plane that could still fall out of the sky and kill him.

By the time he landed back in Kansas, he was already second-guessing everything that happened between them. Maybe Cas had been so nice because they’d already committed to spending the week together and he was waiting until they were apart to break it off. (Only he knew that Cas wasn’t a coward like that.) Maybe everything really _had_ been amazing, but, in a few weeks, Cas would get tired of the long-distance. (Only they’d been doing it for six months already.) Maybe…

His phone finally rebooted after he’d turned it off for the flight and he glanced down to see a new message.

AngelofThursday [4:21 PM]: I love you, Dean Winchester. Try not to forget that, please.

His lips twitched.

Impala67 [7:49 PM]: Always so polite.

AngelofThursday [7:51 PM]: I’ve heard before that opposites attract, so I suppose that makes sense.

Impala67 [7:52 PM]: Fuck you.

AngelofThursday [7:52 PM] Yes, please and thank you.

The person standing next to Dean at the baggage claim looked up startled at his sudden laugh, but Dean didn’t stop.

/////

A month later…

Dean knocked on Bobby’s open office door. “Yeah,” the older man grunted, looking up from his paperwork.

“I, uh, was wondering if I could work some extra hours this week so I could take next Friday off.”

“Right, Sam’s coming for a visit.”

“Cas, too.”

Bobby blinked. “Ah, hell, boy, you’re only mentioning this now?! You know Ellen’s going to kill you.”

“It was a last-minute thing. He started an intern program at one of the local hospitals and didn’t think he could take time off right away. But apparently, the board’s now worried about lawsuits from overworking their staff so they gave him and a bunch of others a long weekend.”

Bobby grunted, looking back down at the form in front of him and scribbling his name. “Well, the more the merrier and all that jazz. It will be nice to finally meet the reason you’re so distracted during work.”

“Hey, I’m the best you’ve got!” Dean said, offended.

“That just means you’re a multi-tasker.” Bobby gave his surrogate son an appraising once over and sighed. “Come on, sit. Tell me what else is on your mind.”

“I’m not--”

“Don’t even try spinning that web. You’ve got some feelings, which you hate talking about and which you know I hate listening to. But sometimes we both gotta do things we don’t want to. Now _sit._ ”

Dean sat, the chair giving a worrisome squeak underneath him.

“Talk.”

“Uh, er--”

“In English.”

Dean bit the inside of his check. “I guess I just wanted to know—with you and Ellen—I mean, I know you’re not each other’s soulmates—but--”

Bobby leaned forward across his desk to look him in the eye. “I’m not one for putting on acts, boy. You know I love that woman with everything in me even when she’s annoying me to death.”

“I know,” Dean responded, because he did. “But is it—different—than it was with Karen?”

“What kind of question is that? Of _course,_ it’s different. They’re different _people_. Doesn’t mean I love either of them any less—just in different ways.” He paused for a moment, then turned to the mini fridge he kept in the corner of the room, pulling out a beer for each of them. “Here,” he muttered, handing over one and then twisting the cap off his.

“Karen was beautiful and a neat freak and sweeter than anybody you’ll ever meet--” Bobby’s voice closed up and Dean pretended not to notice. “And I wanted nothing more but to be with her for the rest of my life. But we—we had our problems. For one thing, she wanted kids and I didn’t—least ‘til you and your brother came along. _Idjits._ And looking back, we relied too much on the soulmate thing—thinking we didn’t have to talk through our issues because we were supposed to just _work_.

“Still, when she died, I—I about died myself. And going through something like that, it makes you a different person. The same thing with Ellen—there’s no way she could be exactly who she was before Bill.

“So even though she’s nothing like Karen was and I’m not Bill, that’s OK because we’re not the same people we were when we were married to them. As it turns out, two broken souls can fit together as well as two whole ones—especially because we put in the effort to keep on the same page, to _be there_ for one another.

“If you do the same with your fella, don’t see any reason you two can’t be as happy as Sam and Jess or Benny and Andrea.”

Dean felt like this might be the longest he ever heard Bobby speak and he was both mortified and thankful for it. “I think I needed to hear that.”

“Yes, well,” Bobby said and left it at that.

They sipped their beers in silence together.


	4. Chapter 4

Six months later…

Dean didn’t know exactly what he was seeing but he knew he didn’t like it. Despite moving to California a couple of months ago to be closer to Cas and Sam, it still seemed like he and his boyfriend barely saw each other.

He knew this was one of the downsides of dating someone in the medical field—although seeing him come home in scrubs was definitely worth something. But, regardless, he thought he’d maybe sneak over to the hospital around noon and convince Cas to have lunch with him—even if it ended up being mystery meat from the cafeteria.

What he didn’t expect was to find him in an obvious argument with one of the other young doctors. They were keeping their voices low enough so as not to be heard, but the scowl on Cas’ face spoke volumes. Then she stepped forward into his personal space, putting a hand on Cas’ chest and _nope, nuh uh, no absolutely fuckin’ way_.

“What the hell, lady!” he hissed, stomping up to the two of them.

“Dean!” Cas exclaimed, instinctively stepping toward him.

“Who’s Dean?” the brunette asked, at the same time he asked, “Who’s this chick?”

“Hannah, this is my boyfriend. Dean, Hannah is one of my colleagues.”

“Seemed a little friendlier than that,” Dean pointed out, not knowing who he was aiming his annoyance at.

“You…have a boyfriend?” Hannah’s voice sputtered, which definitely shifted more of his anger to Cas’ side.

“Yes,” Cas said, simply, as Dean ground his teeth together. “And he and I need a moment in private, if you would excuse us,” he added. To the outside world, it probably looked like he just had his hand on the bend of Dean’s elbow, when really the motherfucker was _manhandling_ him away.

“You want to explain what I just walked in on?” Dean whisper-yelled as Cas locked them both into an on-call room.

It was set up with two bunk beds for doctors who needed a rest during their shifts. Normally, the oldest of the Winchester brothers would be kinda thrilled to be in here with Cas, considering he’d seen what people got up to in these rooms on Dr. Sexy. But then he remembered Hannah’s heart-shaped face, framed by soft brown bangs and the thought of what people did in these rooms on Dr. Sexy sorta made him want to throw up.

“You’re overreacting,” Cas told him, flatly. Which, you know, was probably fair. But the energy inside of Dean wouldn’t settle and so he began pacing the tiny room, waiting for his boyfriend to give him something—anything—else to go off of. And yet, after a minute passed in silence and Dean dared to look in his direction, Cas seemed—nervous? And suddenly Dean felt much, much worse.

“No, Dean, I would never--” Cas started, reaching for his face, but Dean slapped his hands away.

“Then fuckin’ just say it already. What. _Was._ That?”

“Hannah,” he began, trying to keep his voice purposefully soothing, “Is under the false impression that we’re soulmates.”

“She--” Dean attempted a question, but he didn’t think there was any sound to it.

“Her wrist says, ‘Are you Dr. Martin?’, which, yes, I did say, but she must hear that _at least_ a dozen times a day.”

“And did she say—you know, your thing?”

“After I said, ‘Are you Dr. Martin?’, I introduced myself and explained that I was supposed to be shadowing her. And she replied, ‘Let me show you around,” which is, I admit, similar to ‘Let me show you’ but it’s definitely not the same thing. Dean, _Dean,_ ” he murmured, almost begging this time. “I love _you._ ”

“You’re going to be working with her every day. She might change your mind,” he pointed out, feeling suddenly self-conscious of his grease-stained jeans and t-shirt that he’d worn from the mechanic’s shop.

“We’ve spent weeks together at this point and, while I think she is a very capable doctor, I don’t care about her that way.”

 _That_ sparked something in Dean’s brain in an instant. “Weeks! You’ve known about this for _weeks_ and you didn’t tell me.”

“I—” he hung his head, “yes.”

“So what? You were just testing the waters before breaking the news to me?”

Cas took a steadying breath. “I understand why you are upset right now, I do. But you _will_ stop accusing me of cheating on you because I would _never_ —not in word, or deed, or even thought. And I don’t appreciate the insinuation.”

Dean laughed—because that’s what his life was, right? A sick, terrible joke. “I forgot, you’re an _angel_. Perfectly innocent, perfectly trustworthy. It’s not like I just found out you’ve been keeping a huge fuckin’ secret behind my back. And if you could lie to me that easily, how am I supposed to believe _anything_ that comes out of your mouth?”

In that moment, it’s like Cas lowered a door behind his eyes—blocking Dean from seeing any emotion in them. “I think you should go,” he declared, stepping out of the way out the door.

And even though a part of Dean wanted to say _no, please, I’m sorry,_ just to make that too-cold expression go away, it was buried under several layers of his own ice.

“I think I should,” he responded back and that’s exactly what he did.

/////

Dean got a motel that night. He coulda stayed at Sam’s and Jess’s place, but they would’ve asked too many questions he didn’t want to answer. Plus, he didn’t trust them not to report back to Cas.

So, instead, he found himself clutching a bottle of whiskey in a room that smelled vaguely like feet, spitefully imagining what it would be like to go out and find someone else to fuck. He knew he’d never actually do it, but the complete non-response his body gave, even as he went over some old favorite fantasies, was just more proof of the grip Cas had over his heart.

And just like that, he was remembering Tuesday, when Cas had been riding him so good, biting his lip around the little whimpers he was making every time Dean brushed his prostate—like he was still shy about this—about wanting and being wanted.

And, of course, just that ten-second flashback is enough to have Dean’s erection stir for the first time all night. He pointedly ignores it.

Eventually, he calms down enough to go over what happened again at the hospital. Cas hadn’t been happy about Hannah’s advances—he had seen that. But if they really were soulmates—soulmates in forced proximity—it was only a matter of time, right?

/////

He came back to their apartment when he knew Cas would already be working his next shift. But what he didn’t expect was for their bed to look exactly how he left it the previous morning—as if Cas hadn’t slept there. He went back to the kitchen and there were still the same dishes in the sink. And, if he had succeeded at talking himself down from panic even a little, that was all shot to hell now. The fact that Dean also had not slept there was irrelevant.

He powered up his phone for the first time since he called in sick to work yesterday afternoon, only to see half a dozen missed calls and texts from Sam.

Sam [7:11 PM]: Cas just came over looking heart-broken.  
Sam [7:12 PM]: What the hell did you do, man?

Sam [8:52 PM]: I talked to Cas. I get it. You shouldn’t have acted like that. But I get it.  
Sam [8:54 PM]: Cas is staying the night, by the way.

Sam [6:01 AM]: He loves you and you love him.  
Sam [6:02 AM]: Fix this.

/////

Later when Cas came home—with bags under his anger-intense eyes and his trench coat even more disheveled than usual, Dean honestly wondered if the dark-haired man was going to punch him.

But then the mask slipped and he saw the raw hurt there—and suddenly, he was walking forward and Cas’s strong arms wrapped instinctively around his waist, holding all his broken pieces together while he tried to do the same.

“Can we just—not fight right now?” Cas pleaded into his shoulder. “I know we have to talk but—later?” Dean nodded, already leading them into the bedroom, where they quickly fell asleep.

/////

“Go on,” Dean murmured when they both woke up around midnight, calmed by Cas’ hand running smoothing circles over his t-shirt clad chest. “I promise I’ll—you know—listen this time.”

“She’s not my soulmate, Dean. And even if she was—from the moment I met you, I was lost. No one else. But it hurts me that you don’t know that. That you don’t see that I have chosen you and will keep choosing you no matter what anyone else offers me. It’s why I didn’t tell you about her—why I wasn’t planning on telling you. I knew you would be upset and it’s nothing. Really.”

Dean knew Cas had the track record to support what he was saying—knew that when Cas’ parents demanded they end their relationship on the grounds that they weren’t soulmates that Cas stopped talking to them without a second thought—not that they were close before, the dickbags.

He knew that when they went out to bars or restaurants and someone smiled at Cas _that_ way, it wasn’t just that he didn’t flirt back; he genuinely didn’t _notice_.

And yet, something was still bothering him. “If you’ve been trying to fend her off for weeks, why didn’t she already know you had a boyfriend?”

“I…to be honest, I just didn’t think it was relevant. I wasn’t interested in her that way and told her so. I thought that would be enough.”

“Does _anyone_ at the hospital know about me?”

“Of _course,_ my friends do, Dean. I’m very proud of you, but you know I’m private too. I don’t want to be asked by some random acquaintance at work how we met, or what we do on weekends, or ‘what’s it like to hit _that_?’,” he said, with air quotes. “Because believe me, it’s happened before. Those moments are just for us.”

“I need you not to hide shit from me,” he countered, lips pressed to Cas’ head above the curve of his ear. “Even if you think it’s for my own good or whatever, it’s not. Because I’m gonna find out and it’s gonna feel so much worse that it didn’t come from you.”

“And _I_ need _you_ to know I’m not going to leave you—that even when you make me furious and I need some space—I’m always going to come back.”

“Yeah…OK,” Dean’s voice was gruff.

“Now who is going to say it first—you or I?” Cas asked, just the barest traces of moonlight from their bedroom window painting a halo over his head.

“How about at the same time?” Dean suggested.

“I--” they both began.

“—Am sorry,” Cas breathed, just as Dean uttered, “love you.”

Cas sat up partway to look at him, the dress shirt he fell to sleep in looking adorably ruffled. “You…you haven’t said that before.”

“I know,” Dean sighed, hands on either of Cas’ shoulders. “But I always did, anyway.”

That night, as Cas entered him for the first time and he felt pain fade into an altogether new kind of pleasure, he told himself he was going to stop fearing how much he wanted this to work out and start trying his damn-dest to make sure it would.

/////

3 months later…

You [12:12 PM]: Come to the mall with me tonight. I need help picking out Cas’ birthday present.

Bitch [12:49 PM]: Why the mall? As far as I know, you can’t get fancy honey there.

You [12:51 PM]: I don’t want to explain now. Just do it.  
You [12:52 PM]: Or I’m gonna tell Jess about the time you gave that speech in front of your junior high class and farted so bad, they had to evacuate the room.  
You [12:53 PM]: Although she has to live with your ass, so she’s probably already aware of the safety hazard.

Bitch [12:55 PM]: Jerk

You [1:00 PM]: Be there at 6.

/////

2 days later…

Sam reached for the phone trying to vibrate its way off the nightstand.

“Is that Dean?” Jessica murmured, already half asleep.

Smiling, Sam turned the screen toward her so she could see the picture of his brother kissing Cas’ forehead while Cas flashed the largest smile Sam had ever known him to wear. It matched the ring on his finger. “Looks like he said ‘yes.’”

Jessica rolled her eyes, “Like there was any doubt of that.”

“I wish…I wish Mom was here for moments like this,” Sam thought out-loud, instinctively picturing the other ring that had caught his eye when he’d been helping Dean pick out Cas’ and how he had secretly gone back to the shop the day after for it. He looked over to his dresser where he knew it was hidden in a pair of socks but made no move to retrieve it. This was his brother’s moment.

“Didn’t you say she had left behind a bunch of home movies or whatever? Maybe you can put together a tribute or something that they can use for the wedding. Have her there in spirit, you know?”

He picked up her chin to kiss her firmly on the lips. “That’s a great idea, Jess! What would I do without you?”

“Crash and burn,” she teased, before rolling over again to sleep.

/////

2 months later…

“Dean,” Cas said, patting the spot next to him. “You’re stalling.”

“I just don’t know what’s got Samantha’s panties all in a twist. I mean, we’ve had these videos for 20 years but out of the blue he insists I’ve got to watch this one today, right now, otherwise it’s the Apocalypse or some shit.”

“I don’t know Sam’s reasons—and they are not of import to me at the moment. But I _would_ like to know the reason you don’t want to watch them. As you said, it’s been years.”

“I just--” Dean scrubbed his face with his hand, feeling the beginnings of stubble on his cheeks. “I always liked knowing that I had these moments left with her. Once I watch them, I… What if she’s more gone, somehow?”

“I don’t see how seeing her face and hearing her voice again would make her any less present to you,” Cas responded, as kindly and as bluntly as ever. “We can watch only the tape Sam recommended if you want.”

“Let me get a beer first,” Dean insisted. After a short trip to the refrigerator, he finally leaned back on the couch cushions, taking some comfort from leaning his shoulder against his fiancé’s. “OK, let’s do this.”

Cas read his eyes for one last confirmation before he pressed play.

_It started at a beach, the gold sand and sun complementing the blond woman who sat on a striped beach towel in the middle of the shot._

“Your mother was beautiful,” Cas whispered, and Dean could do nothing but nod, realizing the pictures that he had didn’t do her justice. Not when half of her beauty was the way she leaned her head back and looked over her shoulder at the camera, eyebrows raised. She was also heavily pregnant.

_“And what do you think you’re doing, John?” she asked the person recording._

_“Making sure we have a fun movie to watch for when we’re old and have Alzheimer’s.”_

“What beach was this?” Cas asked as Dean’s parents talked and laughed together and a seagull screeched overhead.

“Don’t know. We used to road trip a bunch. Could be Florida, South Carolina, California…Anywhere really. Your parents ever take you to the ocean when you were small?”

Cas snorted. “No. Although I think a few of my babysitters did. Always felt bad for them having to try to juggle all five of us kids. And really, Gabriel should count double.”

_“Now hand over the camera,” Mary demanded of John at last. “If you’re going to insist on bringing that thing out where it’s going to get sand and salt spray all over it, I at least want some footage of our son.”_

_There was a vaguely vomit-inducing transition as the camera was passed from one person to another, but luckily, Mary got it stabilized quickly._

_“Dean!” she called out, focusing the video on a four-year-old boy covered in freckles. “Can you wave ‘hi’?” His whole arm, not just his hand, started moving enthusiastically._

_“I’m building a sandcastle, see?” he said, gesturing towards three lumps of wet sand close together._

_“Very nice,” Mary sounded amused. “Maybe you should look for some seashells for the doors and windows?”_

_“OK!” Little Dean enthused, already running toward a flash of something a few feet away._

“I think I remember this,” Dean told Cas, his voice slightly awed, hearing Cassie’s voice in his head for the first time in forever saying, _“What’s your favorite memory?”_ and he subconsciously leaned forward a little to see the screen better.

_“Mom, Mom, Mom!” Little Dean yelled and even though he’d sounded excited the entire video, there was no denying that he seemed extra pleased._

_The next thing shown was a dozen or so tiny turtles emerging from the sand, some with flecks of shell still clinging to their heads. “Wow!” Dean murmured, hands resting on his knees as he watched them make their slow way toward the waves._

“It’s funny,” Cas remarked. “I think I saw a turtle hatching once. Maybe it was a documentary that I just thought was a memory. Did you know that leatherback turtles lay up to 120 eggs at a time?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond when—

_A slightly younger black-haired boy suddenly appeared on screen, apparently drawn by Dean’s animated shouts. And something about his blue eyes looked strangely familiar…._

“That’s not--” Dean started, realizing that Cas was suddenly leaning forward too, an inscrutable expression on his face. He glanced down at the words on his wrist then back to the screen again, nervously.

_“What you got there?” the new child asked, still a few feet away._

Dean looked at Cas’ wrist, his heart trying to get a lifetime of beats into a tenth of a second.

_“Let me show you!” Little Dean exclaimed, reaching out without hesitation to grab the black-haired boy’s wrist and tug him closer to look at the turtles as they squirmed new lines into the sand. “So cool, right?”_

And whatever happened next, Dean and Cas didn’t know because it looked like someone had recorded over the tail end of the video with another one—in this case, Mary tucking Dean in at night, whispering “Angels are watching over you,” into his ear right before she turned off the light.

Cas paused the TV.

“Please tell me--” Dean began, blood pumping almost painfully through his veins.

“That was me,” Cas confirmed, looking slightly awestruck.

They passed one moment, then two in silence.

“We’re _soulmates,_ Cas,” Dean whispered, finally letting his smile break into a grin that made him look more like the child he was in that video than Cas had ever seen him look before.

“Apparently, yes.”

“Sure you still want to marry me now that it’s no longer an act of rebellion?” he asked, mostly joking.

Cas rolled his eyes, but let his boyfriend’s arms wrap around his waist—let their breaths mingle. “What have I told you about asking stupid questions?” he asked, lips barely brushing as they spoke.

Dean answered with a kiss.

/////

23 years ago…

_“Let me show you!” Little Dean exclaimed, reaching out without hesitation to grab the black-haired boy’s wrist and tug him closer to look at the turtles as they squirmed new lines into the sand. “So cool, right?”_

_Castiel nodded, enthusiastically. And, a few minutes later, when Dean asked him to help find shells for his sandcastle, he nodded then, too. Green and blue eyes alternated between watching the ground for something useful and watching each-other._

_Eventually, John came over to where his wife sat and watched their son play. “It’s amazing how kids can become best friends just like that.”_

_“I’m just worried he’s going to be upset to leave him. It’s getting pretty late and we’ve got a long drive tomorrow.”_

_“He’ll get over it,” John told her, placatingly, resting a hand on her swelled stomach._

_He had no idea how wrong he was._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked this work? Please consider dropping some kudos or checking out some of my other Destiel stories.
> 
> AU: [Rumor Has It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24030730/chapters/57819565)  
> Canon: [Truth Be Told](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21621739/chapters/51558172)
> 
> Want to talk to someone about SPN?  
> I'm [@_GatesKeeper on Twitter](https://twitter.com/_GatesKeeper)  
> and [Gates_Keeper on Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/gates-keeper)


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